Seclusions
by BloodAndDiamonds
Summary: There were some things that they could never really speak out about. One of them wants to die alone, another fears being left behind as his world moves on, and a final simply wants to regain control of his feelings. Contains Eric/Alan & William/Grell.


**A/N**: Hello! *waves* So, I've started writing the sequel to Boundaries, which is likely going to be called Imposition (yay for going haywire with the thesaurus feature on Microsoft word!) and should be up in a few weeks. This takes places between the fourteenth chapter of Boundaries and the first chapter of Imposition (technically the epilogue of Boundaries, but that just sounds confusing.) I just thought I'd put forward a sweet little one-shot as a sister fic to the trilogy! The Eric and Alan is set just before Imposition will start, Grell and William is set a month after the fourteenth chapter of Boundaries, and the William and Ronald is a few months to a year after Boundaries. This can, however, be seen as completely separate from Boundaries; I'm simply posting it to clear up a few loose ends for Imposition.

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><p><strong>Eric &amp; Alan<strong>

Some things never changed.

Strictly speaking, it was true. A Shinigami, for one, never changed. Time was their best friend, an eternal companion that, like them, never really aged. Time was everlasting; so too, was a healthy shinigami. Sharp, refined features would be forever young, changing so slowly that the difference was never noticed. Disease was their only enemy; a common cold could still be contracted, and although it would never give them more than an incessant sniffle and a red nose, the effects on their work could send them into the foulest of moods.

Rattled breathing never occurred in a healthy shinigami.

Neither did a scraping cough that sounded more like a dying dogs bark.

These thoughts stirred around in Alan's mind as he examined his upper body in the mirror of his room. The last eight years had not been kind to him. Medicines had been developed by some of the Shinigami, but they were only helping to push the disease back for a few months at a time. It was not 'an extra chance at living a few more months', but rather, to him, a way of prolonging his pain. On days like this, with the grey overcast sky and the light of a dull candle being the only _bright _thing he could directly see, he sometimes wished that he'd never allowed the Shinigami doctors to give him their drugs.

Because, by god, living _hurt_.

The candle light reflected off his pale body, showing the intricate white scars that wound their way around his torso and down his back. Well, 'scars' wasn't the correct word, not really. It was merely the bright, pretty glow of the soul inside him winding its way around his body; pretty, but deadly.

Depression was rarely present in a healthy shinigami. To him, it hovered on the edge of his thoughts. His disease was more of a burden than anything else; he was wasting the money of the health department of his division, he was an unnecessary worry on his flatmate and partner. William was on a constant watch, waiting to have to send his notice of death to the record departments. In the overcast morning in his home, Alan felt more of a burden than ever. Tears brimmed in delicate eyes, spilling over silently as he hugged himself.

His days were growing short. With every attack came a Shinigami doctor and a box of notes. The attacks were getting more frequent and violent, and the doctors would observe him to gather notes on the exact way that the Thorns killed their victim. He felt like a rat in a laboratory.

He didn't _want _this. He wanted to run away and leave everything behind, to forget about the drugs and the small apartment and rest quietly. Alan wanted an attack to come and go without a hook-nosed doctor leaning over him.

He wanted to _die_ _quietly_. Alone or not, he didn't care, as long as there were no doctors or superiors with him. He wanted to die _knowing _and _expecting _it to come, without the worry that a massive pumping of drugs could pull him out last moment and keep him going on in pain for a few more months.

More importantly, Alan didn't want to _die_.

Even as a Shinigami, he didn't know what happened to humans once they'd died, let alone death gods. Wanting to die in peace was merely the product of accepting he was going to die. If he was going to die, he wanted to do it quietly, but he'd much prefer to not die at all.

Alan Humphries was _scared_.

But fear, he constantly told himself, did not delay the inevitable. He was getting frailer, thinner, paler, and weaker. He was shivering in the cool morning, despite the fact that it was mid-October and technically still warm.

Wiping his tears away with a silent laugh at his own helplessness, Alan pulled his shirt on to hide the horrible traces of the Thorns, and spun on the seat to stare at his bed. Eric Slingby was still fast asleep, unaware of his lover's pain. Not that Alan would _ever _let him see the extent of it. Eric knew about the sadness and the wish to be off the drugs, but no more than that. Eric's hair was messy –Alan gave a small smile at knowing that the hair was in such a state because of _him_ – and his arm was tucked at an awkward angle to his side; the imprint, Alan supposed, of where he'd been sleeping only an hour before.

Eric had been home late, again, from his collections. He was always returning home later and later, and although it warranted suspicion, Alan trusted his fidelity wholeheartedly. And, even if Eric were doing something he shouldn't, Alan wouldn't blame him for trying to cast his attentions away from the dying lover.

Alan crawled to the bed, tears still in his eyes as he made his way up the sheets to rest his head against Eric's bare chest. The man stirred, eyes bleary as he looked at the brunette who had just curled up against him.

"What's up?" His voice was slurred, himself still being half-asleep. Alan shook his head.

"Nothing, go back to sleep." There was a silence for a few more seconds, and then, "I love you, Eric."

"Hey, that's my line." The tone of voice was only slightly clearer, and Alan felt himself being shifted as Eric turned onto his side and wrapped both arms around the brunette. Alan rested his head into the crook of Eric's shoulder, breathing out through his nose heavily. "'love you too, Alan. But stop that; it's cold." Eric spoke, yawning. Alan gave a small laugh, shaking his head and holding back a sob. He felt warm; if he were to die soon, he would like it to be in Eric's protective embrace, where he felt that anything was possible. Only in _Eric's_ hold did Alan's worries wash away.

Despite the grey, overcast sky, Alan could find his bright light in Eric's arms.

* * *

><p><strong>Grell &amp; William<strong>

Really, it was getting ridiculous.

Not the constant stressing of William, or the aching bruises that remained from their encounter with the demons, but the _heat_. For the beginning of September, it was absolutely ridiculous. His poor hair was getting bigger by the half-hour, the humidity causing it to wildly frizz and make him more alike a clown than a Shinigami. With his hair this bad, he only needed the shoes before the circus would be begging him to join.

William bustled past him with a large box and placed it into the hansom, clapping his hands to be rid of the dust before he turned to look at Grell. He raised an eyebrow at the unhappy look on the mans face, moving closer to the redhead with a sigh.

"If this is about your _hair-_"

"-Not _just _my hair; I can't move in this heat!" Grell shifted uncomfortably in his black suit jacket, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his tie loose and messy. He made _Eric _look absolutely pristine in comparison. "I can't believe you're leaving me here in this _shoddy _small house whilst you go to a nice large house on the outskirts of London."

William only gave the redhead a blank look, shaking his head as he went back inside to get another box. Grell watched him walk back in, a pout on his face as he glanced to the hansom. It was larger than the average cab, and the seating space was nearly full with crates and boxes from the house.

In fact, Grell thought to himself, he didn't remember William having so much personal stuff. Even William's bedroom had been nearly filled with _Grell's _stuff; his clothes, his ornaments and other useless things that had no real meaning. Curious as to _what _it was exactly that could be filling so many boxes, Grell decided to take a sneak peak inside them. After all, he'd been kicked outside at eight in the morning and forced to stay out as William moved his stuff; he deserved _something _for waiting six hours in the blistering heat.

Silently, and moving with such quickness that he'd put a cheetah to shame, Grell slipped round the side of the hansom and opened the door, sliding his finger under the lid of one box. Before he'd even managed to get a proper look, however, the lid was slammed back down onto his poor fingers. He snatched his hand back, eyes narrowed as another box sat on top of the one he'd just opened. William stood watching him, a clipboard in one hand as he ticked off another box.

"I warned you to leave everything alone."

"But Will~ I'm so _bored_! I've been out here in this _atrocious _heat, and you are being most unkind to me!" Grell whined, making sure to put stress on 'atrocious' with particular venom in his voice. "And furthermore, _why _can't I go inside?"

"You will get in the way. I told you that you could have gone into central London."

"Yes, you told me that so that I would go to _work_. Not on my day off, Will!" Despite his protests, William only shook his head and went back into the small house. Grell scowled.

He could have _sworn _he'd caught a glimpse of his red nightgown in that box when he'd opened the lid.

Licking his lips, Grell leaned lazily against the hansom as he fanned himself with his hand, becoming more flustered with the heat and the refusal to be allowed inside the house. He watched as William came out again with a final box, ticking it off on his clipboard as he did so. Grell gave him a disappointed smile.

"I can't believe you're leaving me." Grell only got an 'hmm' as a response. "I mean, why did you have to go and choose a house so far away?" Grell asked, wrapping his arms around one of William's and resting his head on the taller mans shoulder. He could feel William tense slightly, but otherwise the man kept ticking his checklist.

"I was not aware, Grell, that ten miles constituted as 'far away.'" William shot back, finally crossing everything out on the list. Grell gave a dramatic sigh. He would genuinely miss William's presence in the house. Granted, that was a side effect of being the man's lover. Grell wouldn't have minded under any other circumstances; he only cared _now _because he knew William was the 'work-all-day' type of person. Grell knew he'd hardly see William anymore once he'd completely moved out.

They seemed to be going _backwards_.

With one last scowl and a streak of more daring than usual, Grell all but threw himself into the hansom, lifted the lid of the box up and pulled out his nightgown.

"Ha! Why are you taking my stuff with you!" At that, Grell watched with a smug smile as William shook his head at him and tried to search his mind for an answer.

"Calm down, Grell."

"No! First you're leaving me, and then you're taking my stuff with you!" Grell half-shrieked, slightly annoyed but placing his nightgown back on the box carefully so as to not crease it. Unable to give a sufficient answer in words, William shook his head and led the redhead back into the undersized house.

"I could not find the correct words to ask you." It was all William said as he pushed Grell through the doorway, hand on the small of Grell's back. Grell, utterly confused, walked into the front room without noticing anything, and then into his own bedroom. It was only when he went into William's bedroom and noticed the distinct lack of _everything _that it clicked.

"Where's my stuff?"

William sighed. Sometimes, Grell could be ridiculously slow on the uptake.

"You didn't honestly think that there was any point in leaving you here, did you?" William asked, face completely neutral as Grell could only stare at him. And then, as if a switch had gone off inside his head, Grell gave a squeal of delight and dived onto William.

"Eee! You're taking me with you!" His stomach burst with giddiness; although William didn't outright say it, he knew that those words conveyed something much different than what they seemed to. Grell wound his arms around William's waist, squeezing the man tightly in joy. "Are we having separate bedrooms?" William frowned at the question, wondering if he should answer it or not. After all, Grell was already squeezing him tightly enough. There was a pause before he answered.

"No."

He was going to bruise before the day was over, he _knew _it.

* * *

><p><strong>Ronald &amp; William<strong>

It was getting less awkward.

Ronald was thankful for it, really. William either had no idea about the source of the awkwardness, or was doing an amazing job at acting like he didn't.

The coffee mornings didn't drag on as they used to do, in those few days after Ronald had learnt the hard way that attempting to catch what wasn't _his _was impossible. Awkward was a massive understatement to the atmosphere on that day two days after the incident. There'd been absolutely no way for William to know of his, at the time, overflowing feelings. And yet with Ronald having had forgone his bright smile on the first few days, and William's natural aversion to conversation, coffee had become something to be dreaded, and not enjoyed.

And yet, somehow, the awkward air had left them eventually, and although William still did not speak much, there was none of the careful wording and short replies that had become the usual. Ronald had finally, _finally _managed to switch his mind towards the pretty girl down in Foreign Affairs, much to the chagrin of his friend in General Affairs.

Shaking his head at his current tumultuous love life, Ronald walked briskly down Queen's Lane, heading towards the coffee shop. It didn't take him long to spot his superior sitting on a table near the back of the shop, and Ronald approached with a confused look on his face.

"You're early, boss." William didn't look up immediately at the statement, eye's flickering across a page of _The Times_.

"As are you, Knox." William folded the paper up as he spoke, pushing it across the table towards Ronald. It was generally the other way around; Ronald would skim the pages without really _reading _it, and once William arrived he would give the man the paper to read. Ronald took his seat, catching the eye of the lady who owned the place. A nod was his confirmation of his coming coffee.

"Yeah boss, but I'm always early. You're always on time. Why are you early?" Finally William locked eyes with Ronald, and without having to look carefully Ronald knew that the answer was going to be an annoyed one.

"I am here early because _someone_," William emphasised the last word and gave Ronald a chilling stare, "Decided to give Grell a Shinigami medical booklet that was supposed to be for females. He has spent the entire morning trying to convince me that he had been suffering from a false pregnancy, and therefore should be allowed the next few weeks off to 'get back on his feet.'" William shook his head as he spoke, resisting from rolling his eyes. Ronald rubbed the back of his neck and gave a nervous laugh.

"Aha, I wonder who gave him such a booklet, eh?" The look the darker haired man shot his way was proof enough that William knew fine well who'd given Grell the booklet. "Did you let him have a day off?"

"I'd sooner let him work in a Whitechapel brothel." William scoffed. Ronald gave a grin.

"I don't think Grell would mind that, boss." One of the dark eyebrows of his superior was raised.

"He threatened to do so, actually. He got halfway to the garden gate before he decided that he couldn't live without the bed." William commented, eyes flicking towards the door. Ronald picked up his coffee that had arrived, shrugging to William.

"I don't know; there's a real fancy one on the edge of the Whitechapel-"

"-I strongly advise you do not finish that sentence, Ronald." William cut in front of the man, attempting to shut him up.

"-_High street _that I've _heard_ about." Ronald finished, a smug grin on his face as William narrowed his eyes at him.

"So you say. Keep away from any brothels; I'm tired of being sent to drag members of the London branch from them in the early hours of the morning when I could be asleep."

"I'm willing to bet you're not sleeping boss, when you get those calls to collect the members." The annoyed look that William cast towards him made Ronald swallow his coffee quickly in surprise, and quite quickly he was coughing loudly at the pain down the back of his throat. "So is Grell coming in today?" Ronald choked out.

"No. He tripped over his heel-laces in the kitchen and hit his head off the table hard enough to knock him out."

"How do you know simply wasn't faking being unconscious?" Ronald asked, putting his money next to his now-empty cup and standing up with William. In answer to the question, William simply gave him a blank stare that, if William _could _show his emotions through his eyes, would naturally show complete and utter deviousness.

"Let's go; I think Eric was on the early shift this morning, and I don't trust him near my office when I'm not around." With a grin, Ronald followed his superior out of the coffee shop, coat slung over his shoulder as they walked to one of the nearest entrances to the Shinigami London Branch.

And _finally_, it was no longer awkward.


End file.
